<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>The wind whispers your name by bjorn_ironside</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28176108">The wind whispers your name</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjorn_ironside/pseuds/bjorn_ironside'>bjorn_ironside</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Vikings (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Sex, Bad Flirting, Body Paint, Drunk Sex, Drunken Kissing, Epic Battles, Falling In Love, Father-Son Relationship, Feelings Realization, Fucking, Hate Sex, Hate to Love, Knifeplay, Let the Good Times Roll, Love, Love Bites, Love Confessions, Love/Hate, M/M, Mating Bites, Mating Rituals, Pain, Please Don't Kill Me, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, War, and ivars love for that damn christian, can somebody stop me please, heavar, implied shit, the old man and the cripple, why do i write so much heavar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:15:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,876</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28176108</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjorn_ironside/pseuds/bjorn_ironside</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ivar is the only son who accompanies Ragnar on the dangerous crossing to England. Once there, Ivar sees himself trapped like an animal - separated from his beloved father. There he gets to know some Christians - and one of them particularly impressed him, a rigid, disgruntled warrior. But when he has to leave, he quickly forgets everything in his anger. Until one day, several years later, they suddenly meet again in a raging battle.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alfred &amp; Ivar (Vikings), Heahmund &amp; Ivar (Vikings), Heahmund/Ivar (Vikings), Ivar &amp; Ragnar Lothbrok, Ivar/Ragnar Lothbrok</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Salt in the soul</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Did I promise someone I wouldn't do a thousand things at the same time ever again? :D If so, I'm very sorry! But after starting with season 4 again, that shit grabbed me so MUCH and I couldn't keep my stupid fingers off of it. Disgusting, I know what you're thinking: bring one story to an end, before you start 1000 new ones. But I can't! :D Dear ones, let's start to a new one. :D (fuck)... OMG can someone PLEASE stop me from doing this. :D</p>
<p>If you have any special update requests for stories, please get in touch. :) Hopefully I will be able to do a lot between Christmas and New Years, I promise to try at least! ;)<br/>Forgive me dear ones. :D &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Salty.</p>
<p>The water, which hit the wooden sides of the ship like a strong bull, tasted incredibly salty. With a slight moan, Ivar licked off a few of the drops that had splashed into his face with a slightly higher wave - and his stomach turned over again, rebelled loudly against the dizziness and the unusual pressure in his body.</p>
<p>Ivar's throat choked slightly, and he leaned a little more over the rail of the boat; he was terrified, terrified of having to vomit violently again. It was with deep shame that he felt the glances of the older men who had already examined him critically before the crossing. It was actually thanks to his father that he only had to see their gazes and not hear their words.</p>
<p>The latter gave a slight laugh as he got a little closer to Ivar; the blue eyes found Ivar’s easily, and Ivar had to take a deep breath so as not to throw up at his beloved father's feet.</p>
<p>"Your very first crossing, and you've only vomited four times," Ragnar said amused; he crouched down next to Ivar, who was still huddled in his corner; he had his walking aids aside, close to himself. But here, on this dizzying boat, they were of no use to him. Even if he proudly had entered the boat with them.</p>
<p>Ivar had to swallow a wave of nausea again, with a soft gurgle, before he was able to answer his father quietly. “I'm not comfortable on the water. I'm scared of it.", he mumbled quietly and stared at the high, gray waves with a slightly dogged expression. The sky had been closing steadily since this morning, sinking deeper and deeper into an utter chaos of clouds. It triggered a queasy feeling in Ivar, a formative uncertainty that was expressed in the constant trembling of his body.</p>
<p>Ragnar let out a deep breath; his amused, aged eyes rested on his youngest son, even if Ivar wasn't looking at him so intensely.</p>
<p>"Did your mother scare you again with her stories?"</p>
<p>Ivar hesitated. "No.", he lied, his fingers tightening slightly on the wet wood of the railing. Of course, he wouldn't tell his father. He would not mention a word of the dream, of his beloved mother's fear that Ivar would drown miserably on the crossing to England. It had worried him; water had never been his friend because he could hardly move in it without help. And the fierce waves of the sea were by no means friendly water. He had been able to read the fear in his mother's eyes - had seen the deep lines of worry on her forehead, the lines around her eyes that always closed when something troubled her. But his decision had been made from the start; he had wanted to make this crossing. He would rather die here in the mighty waves of the sea with his famous father than not have done anything. His fingers tightened slightly as he thought of Valhalla; the glorious gate, the shields high in the sky. His leather gloves were almost completely soaked.</p>
<p>Ragnar’s blue eyes followed Ivar’s on the stormy waves that got the ship more and more into trouble; the boat was now rocking so hard that even some of the older men had difficulties holding on.</p>
<p>And Ivar couldn't hold it any longer; with a loud choking sound he leaned feverishly over the railing and vomited violently in the waves of the sea, while his father let out an amused laugh. Ivar didn't want to say anything to that, because he was afraid that his bile would come up again if he even thought about speaking.</p>
<p>The weather didn't get any better. Panic crept into every fiber of Ivar’s body as the sky darkened overhead; thick, black clouds moved across the sky, stole the sun.</p>
<p>"There will be a storm!", one of the warriors yelled; the men were all busy securing the boat as best as they could. Only Ivar clung obsessively to the edge of the boat and screamed his heart out. In a matter of minutes, the storm turned into a monster - the wind roared, tugging the sails firmly with it, and the waves were like wild animals that angrily gnawed at the wood and threatened to pull them all down.</p>
<p>A firm grip on the back of the neck was the next thing Ivar noticed in his sheer panic, except for the splash of water. His father roughly yanked him away from the railing, though Ivar fought against it like a wild cat.</p>
<p>"No!" he shouted, cried, his face pulled into a grimace; the smell of vomit still came up his throat, but all the screaming was of no use. With an extremely firm movement, his father pressed his battered and helpless body against a mast; ropes wound around Ivar’s body, while streams of tears ran from his eyes, again and again, and he sobbed bitterly against the storm.</p>
<p>"Shut up!" Ragnar roared at him, and a strong hand pressed hard on his lips; Ivar’s eyes widened, but he tried to listen to his father, even when the panic constricted his throat.</p>
<p>He knew he was going to die. He would drown miserably, tied to a mast by Ragnar, helpless as a pig at slaughter. Ivar swallowed his panic, tried to suppress the thought of the cold water that would soon fill his lungs - Mother had been right. Why hadn't he listened to her... Even if it was just a dream. Her dreams had always been true. The water was now beating so high against the boat that all the men had to hold on to not to go overboard.</p>
<p>And just as his father took his hand from his mouth and turned around, the lashing water on his face, both father and son suddenly caught their breath for a brief moment.</p>
<p>Because there, higher than any mountain around Kattegat, a monstrous wave towered up that seemed to reach up to the sky. It was so tall that one had to tilt up the head to see the end - it was like staring at a wall of water.</p>
<p>A strange silence fell on the boat; like the breath before a battle, like the breath of a dead man who died in an intimate family circle. It was an oppressive silence in which even the storm took a breath for a moment. Burning silence, palpable silence.</p>
<p>Until they got carried away by the water.</p>
<p>Ivar didn't notice much in those seconds. Ragnarök seemed to break in like a herd of bulls, and within seconds there was nothing but water. Crushing, suffocating masses of water that toppled the entire boat and pulled it into the black side of the sea, completely buried them under it.</p>
<p>The pressure of the freezing water was everywhere, and Ivar swallowed a lot as the mast pushed into the water like a weak child. His lungs puffed up under the pressure of the massive amount, and Ivar wanted to scream, scream with blind panic and fear of death, but he couldn't. All he saw was the darkness of the water, the floating bodies of innumerable men, and his own miserable death.</p>
<p>He felt that something was tampering with the ropes on the mast - maybe it was sharks - and that something was pulling on his body, but in these last moments Ivar couldn't and didn't want to move for a moment. One last picture shot through his head: he, in his baby carriage, and in front of him Ubbe, who was pulling him through Kattegat with his strong fellow hands. The sun had been low that afternoon and bathed everything in a soft, golden light; and little Ivar stared at his legs, which had looked like little worms in the glint of the sun then. But sprinkled with gold, they had seemed like strands of Freya's hair.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>A soft rustling filled the air, and something smelled salty and musty at the same time; like clothes, dirty clothes that had been in the water too long. The smell drew so violently into Ivar’s nose that he slightly closed his eyes tighter and wrinkled his nose. If this was Valhalla, why did it smell so strange?</p>
<p>A cough shook his body, and with a sudden movement Ivar turned on his side and spat out a large amount of water. It tasted like vomit, only a lot saltier, and Ivar let out a loud gasp before opening his eyes with a fluttering movement.</p>
<p>Beach, sand, and the sea lay before him. Various pieces of debris were floating around in the sea, lying scattered like dead animals. And when Ivar turned his head slightly, he could see an old man lying next to him who was clearly Ragnar, if exhausted and with reddened eyes. He looked terrible.</p>
<p>"Father.", Ivar grunted and spat out another little gush of water; his nose burned, and he wiped it on his wet sleeve. The fine grains of sand scratched his nose, and it itched terribly.</p>
<p>Ragnar raised his head; his long, gray beard was covered with sand and a shell, and although he looked so exhausted, his blue eyes were watchful and clear, as if he had slept the whole time on the bumpy and deadly voyage. The old man sat up with a slight groan and looked around him; his smile lines showed.</p>
<p>“Looks like we've arrived. You were worried again for nothing.", he grumbled, and Ivar let out a snort. He was still sick, but at least he was alive. His mother's prophecy had not been fulfilled.</p>
<p>“You are stupid, father. Look around. We are probably the only ones who survived. And what do we do, if they’ll find us, huh?”, Ivar said irritably; he wiped the sand off his face with a slight movement.</p>
<p>Ragnar’s deep blue eyes continued to look around; he raised his eyebrows in amusement and pointed to a stretch of the beach further away. When Ivar turned his head there, he saw men staggering; at first, he thought they were strangers, but then he saw that they were their men, maybe seven of them. There weren't many.</p>
<p>"There aren't many," Ivar muttered; he gave his father a questioning look, but the latter just jumped on his ragged shoes and stretched.</p>
<p>“There are enough. We should hide before anyone finds us. Boat remains never went undiscovered on England's coasts."</p>
<p>Ivar rolled his eyes. "Wonderful. And my crutches are gone too."</p>
<p>"Hm, bad luck." Ragnar said.</p>
<p>The men came closer and Ragnar waved to them.</p>
<p>Ivar dropped back into the sand and let out a deep groan. A wonderful start to his career as a war leader...</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>“We'll sneak through the woods, past the guards. We could raid a few villages."</p>
<p>"We're going to a city with a harbor and stealing a boat."</p>
<p>"We're sailing back!"</p>
<p>"You want to go back, don't you, Ragnar Lothbrok?"</p>
<p>Ivar looked from man to man, into their expectant, yet so desperate eyes; they looked emaciated, pale, and weak. Not a good traveling party and there weren't many warriors left. Then he turned his gaze to his father.</p>
<p>The old man rubbed his beard so relaxed as if they not had just barely survived a shipwreck; his shrewd, famous eyes, which in spite of his age let so much intelligence shine through, only stared into the fire they had kindled. For a moment there was silence - everyone waited eagerly for an answer from the most famous Viking of all time.</p>
<p>But Ragnar just grinned broadly and began to take off his shoes.</p>
<p>"First of all, we should see to it that we all get dry," he said, amused.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>The sharp rocks and cliff stones ripped open Ivar’s crippled knees; he hissed loudly as he pulled himself forward. But after a few seconds, he threw himself on his stomach and screamed loudly. He could feel and see the men staring at him; one of them opened his mouth and said: "Great, afterwards we'll have to carry the cripple too."</p>
<p>Anger simmered in Ivar, immense anger at these men who had no respect left for him. He wanted to push himself up, kill them all, make them bleed for it, when a firm grip grabbed his neck. The hand was warm and rough to the touch; Ivar knew who it was even if he didn't turn around.</p>
<p>"Give me my crutches, father!"</p>
<p>"No. You will crawl. Or we will carry you.”, was the cold reply, and Ivar let out an angry cry. The firm grip grabbed his shoulders and in seconds he was turned onto his back; the stones pressed into his bones, and Ivar whimpered in anger.</p>
<p>His father's hands clasped around his face tightly - tears ran down Ivar’s cheeks.</p>
<p>"I can walk with them like anyone else!" Ivar shouted angrily at him and let out a bitter gasp that vanished with a jerk of Ragnar’s hands.</p>
<p>"You!" Ragnar uttered angrily; he pulled Ivar’s face so close that Ivar felt his breath on his face. The blue eyes stared at him, full of anger. Ivar took a deep breath and swallowed; he had respect for his father, he had always had. Because it was still the most famous man, a role model, <em>his</em> role model. But the anger in those familiar eyes shook Ivar. “You are not like any other man! You are a cripple, and that's a good thing!"</p>
<p>Ivar's mouth fell open; a hot line of tears ran down his cheek as he stared at his father questioningly and deeply hurt. The men around them carried on as if they didn't hear the argument. Ivar got goose bumps when his father leaned closer to him and gently pressed his forehead against Ivar’s. The smell was familiar, the feeling was so warm. Ivar closed his eyes for a brief moment.</p>
<p>He listened spellbound to the words of his father, which reached his ear with a soft whisper. “You are no ordinary man and that is what makes you stronger than anyone else. Never try to be like others - because they are nothing. Your legs make you strong. <em>You</em> are strong. Stop wanting to be like the others. Their names will disappear after their death, but yours... Ivar, yours will remain."</p>
<p>Ivar opened his eyes; tears still floated in the edges of his eyelid, but he nodded softly, returning his father's serious look. His fingers trembled as he stroked his father's bald head; it felt almost as rough as his hands.</p>
<p>"It's good," Ivar whispered; it was almost as if the words were still vibrating against his skin, even when Ragnar got up and gave him a rude nod.</p>
<p><em>He wasn't ordinary</em>. Yes, Ivar thought, pulling himself over the sharp rocks again, swallowing his pain; I'm anything but ordinary.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>The forest was silent at night. Only occasionally could an owl be heard screeching softly, chasing tiny mice that hid in the thicket of grass. Ivar’s fingers ran gently through the grass below; his stomach was pressed flat to the ground, and his eyes fixed only a few meters away the dark figure that was hovering around in the shade of the tree, listening: Ragnar.</p>
<p>Neither did the oppressive silence break when Ragnar held up two fingers; Ivar clawed his fingers tighter into the soft grass before biting his lip firmly and pushing his muscular torso up off the ground. He carried the little knife between his teeth, and without making a sound, he stalked up to the first man. It only made a slight choking sound, damp with blood, as Ivar cut his throat and the man choked to death on his own blood.</p>
<p>They were fast, sliding silently from man to man; Ivar felt perfect. He had always been good at sneaking up on other people, almost like a wild snake, and killing them in their sleep. His fingers twitched with joy as he wrapped them around his ax; when one of the warriors was about to get up, he rammed the ax into the upper body with such force that the breaking of the bones woke the only woman in the camp.</p>
<p>Ivar crawled over to her as fast as he could; his blue eyes narrowed as he leaned over her.</p>
<p>Her body under him was warm and she smelled good; yet he was still fueled up with anger.</p>
<p>"You don't have to do this, Ivar..." she pleaded - her warm body pressed against him and her thin fingers crept up his chest. A soft feeling spread in Ivar’s chest, if only briefly - he looked into her eyes.</p>
<p>"You can have this here," she whispered, and wanted to wrap her legs around his waist; and Ivar hissed.</p>
<p>While he was still ramming the knife from below through her chin into the middle of her greedy mouth, he thought for a moment of the painful fiasco with Margret. And shame filled him, deep shame, when he heard the damp sound of the woman suffocating and he thought of his body, of his limp penis, which had repeatedly butted uselessly against Margret's pussy like slapping flesh. Ivar let out a low gasp; the thought of that terrible night made him feel more than angry, and he rammed the knife deeper through the woman's chin, almost to the base; until the dark blood dripped onto his fingers.</p>
<p>She died with her eyes wide open, but Ivar only roughly pushed her body aside when she was dead. He hated love. He hated women. He hated his legs.</p>
<p>His eyes searched the area; Ragnar’s figure appeared between the moonlit trees, the ax still over his shoulder. And even though his father was so old now, had lost so much respect in his absence, Ivar didn't come around to see his true greatness in the pale moonlight - and he vowed that he wanted to be like his father. Just a lot bigger.</p>
<p>They grinned.</p>
<p>"That would be all," said Ragnar; he stepped over two corpses and knelt on the ground in front of Ivar, who looked up at him with a grin.</p>
<p>"And now?"</p>
<p>"Well, well... Now an old man and a cripple are going to make their way to a good old friend."</p>
<p>Ivar laughed softly; he put his ax back in his belt, even if it was still wet with blood.</p>
<p>"Could work out."</p>
<p>"Will work out."</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Ivar smelled the city before it appeared in front of the two of them. English cities smelled differently: finer, not with so much manure, not so much roasted meat in the air. His legs tightened around the waist of Ragnar’s body, who still carried him on his back; excitement spread inside him. Because he had no idea what to expect there… He had heard stories about England back then, stories about the kings; stories about his father's raids. But now, at these gates, they were alone. An old man who carried his crippled son on his back and who had been nothing but a good donkey.</p>
<p>But what would happen?</p>
<p>Ivar swallowed and pressed his torso closer to Ragnar’s back; the old man gasped softly.</p>
<p>"That’s it?" Ivar asked softly; his arms closed tighter around his father's neck. The proximity was so familiar.</p>
<p>"Yes," Ragnar replied. He had stopped and was staring intently at the walled city. Smoke from fires rose above the rooftops and geese could be heard in the distance. Ivar let out a light breath and swallowed - he was so excited. He knew the rules: they had to come in first. Because when he thought about what they did to strangers, well...</p>
<p>Ragnar seemed to have the same thought in those seconds, for he coughed softly and slid against an abandoned carriage with stacked hay; he let Ivar slide slowly off his back and took a deep breath while Ivar pressed his back against the hay bale and looked at his father questioningly.</p>
<p>Ragnar studied the city for a moment; then he turned around and knelt before Ivar. The eyes of the two met; it almost hurt Ivar what he saw there. He knew his father and his eyes didn't exactly reflect any joy or excitement. Something seemed to hurt the old man terribly, depressing him like a mass of burden. But the old man just put a hand on Ivar’s dirty cheek and leaned close to him.</p>
<p>"You have to listen to me now, Ivar," he whispered, and Ivar nodded eagerly. And although he wanted to be the strong boy - absolutely! - so it hurt him. Because in a strange way, he felt his father's pain. His big eyes sank into the older man's and he swallowed softly before Ragnar continued.</p>
<p>“I don't know what will happen when we walk through this gate. I'm pretty sure my plan will work - providing the king is there. If not, they will in all likelihood separate us."</p>
<p>"Separate us? But father- ", Ivar gasped, but Ragnar pressed his heated forehead against Ivar’s again and uttered a soft "Shht!"; and Ivar closed his full lips. He could taste the filth of the past few days much more clearly, now that they were so close to the goal.</p>
<p>"It will happen. But you have to stay strong by showing weakness, okay? I know that you are angry, oh yes, and how I know that. But you have to give them the theater of what they need to see. You have to play the cripple, even if you are not, by Odin. You are so strong, Ivar, and I didn't want any other son of mine with me than you. Because you have a strength that your other brothers don't have."</p>
<p>Ivar’s mouth opened slightly; he could feel a few more tears welling up in his eyes, but he tried to blink them away. His heart beat hard under the chain mail and leather armor; it narrowed him because his father's words struck him deeply, in a very strange way. He didn't want to say goodbye. Not yet. Even if his father's eyes seemed to express so much more.</p>
<p>With a firm grip and wet eyes, Ivar grabbed his father's side of the neck while the latter continued to speak softly.</p>
<p>“If we go in there and they part us - guard your anger. Even if you hear terrible things from me - act weak, be the cripple you are supposed to be, because then they cannot harm you. Even if they hurt me-"</p>
<p>"They are going to hurt you?" Ivar whimpered.</p>
<p>“I think so, after all they are still scared of me. But be strong by showing weakness. This is the only way we can overcome all the hurdles that will arise in there. Do you hear? Everything is going to be alright. Trust me, Ivar."</p>
<p>Ivar swallowed silently; his fingers lingered on his father's neck and he looked the old man in the so familiar eyes. And he knew that his father would only accept one answer, no matter what other arguments he had in mind. So, Ivar took heart and nodded slightly.</p>
<p>His father pressed a firm, loving kiss on his forehead that crept deep into Ivar's neck and warmed him with courage for a moment. When he looked up again, his father smiled.</p>
<p>"Well, let's go then," he said, amused, and stood up to full size again.</p>
<p>Ivar crawled beside him all the way towards the city; the little stones scratched his clothes because the floor was so much harder than at home. Nevertheless, he held out until they stood in front of the large wooden gates of the strange city. There was an instant roar; some of the men pointed bows and arrows at them, and Ivar stared up at his father in shock; he just raised his arms with a grin.</p>
<p>"What are you doing here?", one of the men yelled with a strange dialect; Ivar snorted softly but stayed slightly crouched on his hands on the solid ground.</p>
<p>“I want to visit my old friend. We're not armed, just two weary travelers. I am sure that King Eckbert will welcome us with joy."</p>
<p>The power in Ragnar’s voice was unmistakable - Ivar got goose bumps and watched the hustle and bustle on the high walls. The men looked at each other; then one turned back to Ragnar.</p>
<p>"The king is not here."</p>
<p>"Well, then I am sure that you will still receive his good friend politely," the Viking uttered; Ivar pushed himself up more off the ground. His body was saturated with adrenaline and he could hardly hold back from excitement. There was silence; for a moment, the English men only stared down at the two before one of them finally gave the order to open the gate.</p>
<p>Ragnar glanced down at Ivar, who bared his teeth slightly; unbelievable that this old man was still so brave.</p>
<p>"You certainly owe this luck to your rags.", Ivar muttered with a grin; Ragnar pressed out a raspy laugh.</p>
<p>"And to my beard," the old man replied as the gate opened in the background.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
</p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The brightness of eyes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Merry, merry Christmas to you all, if a bit late. :D Hope you enjoyed your days! I am busy in updating some of my stories, but it always takes some time. Hope you like the new chapter! At the end of the chapter, there is the translation for the two sentences. :)<br/>&lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>His body shifted slightly with every step of the horse; Ivar had clasped his hands tightly into the straps of the saddle so he wouldn't fall off the horse. They had laid him aside, stomach first, on the horse's back, roughly as they would always treat a stranger. And he hadn't complained, even if the soldiers' rough hands had hurt him badly.</p>
<p>His blue eyes looked forward. His father led the way there, with some of the soldiers, and they hadn't chained him by now. Ivar tried to take that as a good sign, even if his heart was beating up to his neck. He could still feel the exciting pressure of adrenaline in his body, and the pressure of the saddle drove his stomach slightly to the brink of nausea. But he had to be strong. He couldn't get weak now, not just because it would taste gross - he had to be strong for his father. Because the last thing Ivar wanted was to disappoint him.</p>
<p>The looks of the English around them were shy and somewhat afraid; Ivar saw a lot, especially in the eyes of men and women. He knew that there was something in the air - that smelled of soft hay and roast goose - in the middle of the courtyard: something seemed to frighten these people. Did they know the old stories about the Northmen the way his father and mother told him their stories? Was it possible that, although they had never met a Northman, they knew who they were? A light haze ran through the courtyard as the small crowd came to a stop, almost abruptly.</p>
<p>Ragnar glanced back at Ivar, who was still hanging over the horse like a sack of flour; the eyes of the two met and Ragnar raised his hand very slightly and made a reassuring movement. Ivar understood: he nodded very slightly to show his father that he understood this gesture. He should stay calm. He should keep his anger and fear in check.</p>
<p>The castle gates opened, and Ivar lifted his head in that direction. Surrounded by several soldiers, a man with beautiful armor came out. He looked angry; when the other soldiers beside Ragnar greet him, he waved his hand so roughly that they were immediately speechless. They looked at him in amazement, and he suddenly roared:</p>
<p>“Don't you know who this is? Are you blind?! This is Ragnar Lothbrok, King of the pagans! Arrest him <em>now</em>, come on!"</p>
<p>Screams broke out, and Ivar could see that Ragnar raised an eyebrow in amusement despite the order and looked around slightly; he apparently liked being for a moment the dreaded man who had filled whole legends of cruelty in England. Some of the women in the area disappeared; driven by fear of the stories.</p>
<p>But Ivar didn't get it. Though Ragnar looked like a beggar with his rags and his filthy, matted beard, they feared him more than anything. A hot wave of pride ran through Ivar’s body, but it immediately turned into an angry wall of anger when the first soldiers started kicking Ragnar in the back and slapping him in the face.</p>
<p>
  <em>Anger.</em>
</p>
<p>Immense anger rose up in him, simmering like seldom before, when he had to watch his father being kicked, being beaten without him even beginning to defend himself. Ivar bit his lip hard, trying not to look too hard; but his blue eyes drove him to his father again, absorbing every painful gasp with pain, and Ivar screamed inside. He wanted to throw himself on the ground, crawl up to the soldiers and tear their tongues out of their mouths, each and every one of them.</p>
<p>His fingers tightened in the horse's saddle and he took a deep breath; he had to keep on his mask, he had promised it to Father. He had to stay strong, for him. He just <em>had </em>to...</p>
<p>"Stop it!", the man who had given the order yelled; some of the soldiers held Ragnar in check, holding back his rag-clad arms, while Ragnar just spat a little blood on the ground and looked at the man with a big grin.</p>
<p>"Your king will not be very pleased if you treat his guests like this," he said, and the man let out a snort.</p>
<p>“Why should he be happy to see you? My father has nothing to do with you Northmen."</p>
<p>"Well," Ragnar muttered, sitting on his heels; his arms had been tied behind his back by now. Ivar felt a thorn in his heart, seeing his proud father so humiliated. He could hardly bear it ...</p>
<p>“He'll want to speak to me. You know that very well, Aethelwulf."</p>
<p>The man who appeared to be the king's son took a step towards Ragnar; he looked at the north man in front of him with a slightly disgusted expression that drove Ivar's sheer anger up again until he suddenly glanced at Ivar.</p>
<p>Ivar wasn't frightened. He did everything he could to look extremely neutral; his fingers had now clung so tightly into the saddle strap that his knuckles were white; he let go a little to make himself look more helpless. The two looked at each other for a moment before Aethelwulf turned to one of the soldiers.</p>
<p>"And who is this?"</p>
<p>The addressed soldier threw a short, shy look at Ivar - almost as if he would become infected if he looked at him for too long. Ivar pushed all his anger and sadness deep into his stomach at this senseless and hurtful gesture, burying the anger deep in his heart, no matter how much it hurt.</p>
<p>"Just a cripple."</p>
<p>Aethelwulf snorted; then turned back to Ragnar.</p>
<p>“As long as my father is not around, I must see you as a threat. Throw them both in the dungeon."</p>
<p>The words almost echoed across the more than silent courtyard, and then everything happened very quickly. They stepped Ragnar forward into the alley while Ivar was being pulled from his horse like a sack and carried with a slight groan by two soldiers.</p>
<p>To him it was more than a shame, more than humiliation, that he was dragged along as if he was nothing more than a sack of garbage; it hurt so much in his heart that every vein in it seemed to cramp up. And to be able to fight against tears of anger, Ivar looked one last time into the open sky, where the first rays of sunshine of the afternoon appeared and the area was once again bathed in beautiful, warm light.</p>
<p>And it almost seemed to Ivar that in every phase of his life, everything would get a little more bearable with the light. Whether he was being dragged through the streets of Kattegat by his brother, or whether a torrent of soldiers carried him with his father into a dungeon; one could never say that he was not getting on.</p>
<p>Even if this movement always brought a certain pain with it.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>The sound of dripping from the wet ceiling stayed with Ivar the rest of the day and night; it was damp and cold in the dungeon, even if it wasn't exactly a typical dungeon. It was just a cell, in which they apparently from time to time also put locals who couldn't behave.</p>
<p>Ivar let out a slight sigh as he laid his back on the thin linen cloth of the cot; his mind raced. What in Odin's name was his father up to? Did he have a clever plan? What was he getting at? When the anger over the images he had experienced broke through, Ivar pressed his hand into a firm fist and let out a deep gasp. He had promised it. And although his head burned, he asked no questions of himself or of the gods. Because in those moments he had no choice but to somehow trust his father and hope that he knew exactly what he was doing here.</p>
<p>Ivar didn't know what time it was or what day when suddenly his cell was trodden in and two soldiers burst into it; they shouted something in their own language, and Ivar just looked up, his eyes wide.</p>
<p>He was acting stupid; he did this until the soldiers came up to him and lifted him to his feet. With two on each side, he was swiftly carried out of the cell; they walked with him down long corridors that were lit with torches and finally gave off some warmth that was good for Ivar. He was frozen to the bone, but he knew something had changed. The excited beating of his heart told him.</p>
<p>The soldiers carried him into a great hall, through what appeared to be a side entrance; and as soon as he entered it, he immediately noticed the large, rusty cage from which two pairs of blue eyes stared at him and protruded two dirty wrists in heavy chains: it was his father.</p>
<p>Ivar valiantly swallowed the anger and deep pain at the sight; his eyes avoided the man who sat at the other end of the table and looked incredibly powerful: it was definitely the king.</p>
<p>Ivar was lowered onto a wooden bench with a groan and he dared not to utter a word. With an uncertain look, his eyes darted from the king to Ragnar, again and again, until Ragnar said something.</p>
<p>"My son! Are you all right?” Ragnar’s voice sounded rough and scratchy and his face looked terribly battered. They had hurt him terribly, Ivar could only hear it from the voice. It tore him in half, and he put his hands under the table so that his clenched hands couldn't be seen. As Ragnar continued to stare at him, Ivar nodded.</p>
<p>“My son needs something to eat. I won't eat anything beforehand!”, Ragnar uttered; only now did Ivar notice that a plate full of meat was standing in front of him.</p>
<p>"Well, of course we can change that," the King said, and with a stiff smile he handed Ivar a piece of chicken leg. Ivar hesitated - he had never seen such a strange situation. Carefully he raised his hand and looked uncertainly at the king; when he nodded, however, Ivar carefully grabbed the chicken leg with his fingers and gnawed at it. Of course, he was hungry, and the meat was delicious; but he didn't let it show that he hadn't eaten in a long time. For his father, who now threw himself on his plate like a predator.</p>
<p>"Let my son want for nothing," Ragnar muttered with his mouth full; the king stared at him, and a slight grin played around the corners of his mouth.</p>
<p>"It won't miss of him of anything," he replied, and Ragnar stopped eating: his blue eyes stared at the king.</p>
<p>"I'm serious. He's just a cripple, my boy, he's not any danger at all. That's why I want him to be fine."</p>
<p>"He won't miss anything, I promise you."</p>
<p>Ivar’s gaze jumped from the king to Ragnar as he ate his chicken leg; he still couldn't see through his father's plan, had no idea how it was going to work; nevertheless, he was grateful. Of course, it broke his heart to see his father cooped up like an animal. And yet he trusted him. With all his heart.</p>
<p>When Ivar had eaten his piece of meat, the king waved his hand towards the soldiers: two of them jumped up and began to lift Ivar under his armpits.</p>
<p>"He shouldn't miss anything, see to it,", the king said, and Ivar nodded his thanks to him before he fixed his gaze again on his father.</p>
<p>„Ikke spill noen spill med dem.“, Ivar exclaimed as he turned his head to take one last look at his father before he was carried away. Ragnar met his son's gaze insistently and nodded; Ivar could clearly see the wink, even if only slightly visible through the heavy wrinkles around the eyes.</p>
<p>It took some of his worry away.</p>
<p>„Jeg vil ikke.“, the old man replied, and before Ivar had left the room, he could hear two more fragments of conversation.</p>
<p>"What did he say?", the King asked curiously, and Ivar could still feel his father's burning gaze in the corridor when he answered in an amused voice: "He said thank you, nothing more."</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>He got his own little room, and although he was guarded day and night, Ivar didn’t feel like a typical prisoner. He had a warm bed and was given something to eat three times a day. Sometimes, when the king was in a good mood, he was allowed to play a little chess with the king's grandson; and he liked it more than well, because he could finally compete with a boy who was his head. He had tried it several times with Björn, but Björn had never really understood the game - most of the evenings had ended with Björn throwing the board up against a wall and walking away. But young Alfred was different - in a way he was as strategic as Ivar himself.</p>
<p>Ivar was thinking of a couple of particularly amusing moves the night before, when he had beaten Alfred  - when a rough voice in the hall suddenly demanded his full attention.</p>
<p>Ivar was actually used to the guards taking turns from time to time - they did that all day, and it was an easy routine to see. Still – there was a different voice, a coarse, rough voice, deep as ebony, that Ivar didn't know yet. It sounded much more challenging than the other voices and just as much bossier. As if it belonged to a man who knew exactly where his place was in this world.</p>
<p>Ivar was seized with a surge of curiosity; with a slight sigh he pushed himself up from the bed and leaned his head against the cool stone wall to catch at least a few of the snippets of conversation.</p>
<p>"I'm supposed to relieve you here," the deep voice said, and Ivar grunted softly. His senses were tense, and he tried hard not to miss a word.</p>
<p>"You? I mean... But that's..."</p>
<p>"Unusual? Yes. But it was the wish of the king that from now on I take over a large part of the watch to make sure that our… <em>guest</em> doesn't get any stupid things in the head.”, the rough and deep voice replied; Ivar bit his lip hard. There was a slight hint of dislike in the word <em>guest</em>; almost as if it was a dirty word for the man at the door.</p>
<p>“Well…As the King wants it to be. But he can't move much anyway. He's a cripple."</p>
<p>“I heard that already. Sometimes unbelief also punishes the heathens physically. Go now."</p>
<p>A clatter of armor told Ivar that the previous guard bowed slightly - he had never noticed anything like it. Most of the time, the men clapped their fists. Apparently, the man's rank outside was more important.</p>
<p>But before Ivar could even think about it, the door suddenly opened.</p>
<p>And Ivar had to admit that the appearance of the tall man who came through the door took his breath away at first. It wasn't like he had never seen a Christian warrior - but this man was unlike anything Ivar had ever seen in his life.</p>
<p>The man was not only tall, much taller than Ivar, but also had a breathtakingly exciting face. Bright eyes stared at him, eyes so bright like a clear source of fresh water in the mountains of Hedeby, framed by a face that perfectly matched those eyes: the light, black beard gave him an incredibly masculine look, while the striking cheekbones and lips gave him the expression of a warrior. Black hair and the slightly shaved sides of the head rounded off the man's appearance - and Ivar could tell that he was strong by his shoulders, which were wide and perfectly fitted into his black armor.</p>
<p>Ivar couldn't help but staring at the man all the time until his gaze fell on the man's neck. A wooden cross dangled there, and Ivar knitted his eyebrows when he saw it. He disregarded the crosses of Christians, and this man seemed to notice this dislike at once.</p>
<p>His blue eyes stared at Ivar and he showed no respectful bow. Ivar, meanwhile, sat up and propped his arms next to his body. They were silent for a moment, then the great Christian cleared his throat before him.</p>
<p>“I will be your watch from now on. The Lord has given me this responsibility, because he knows that I am the best man at keeping pagans in check. You are Ivar, the son of Ragnar Lothbrok. Aren’t you?” The deep voice seemed to boom in the vaults of the room, and Ivar inclined his head slightly in the direction of the Christian. He took another look over the man's body before returning to the bright blue eyes.</p>
<p>"Yes. And who are you?”, Ivar muttered; his eyes fixed firmly on the Christian, even if the man did the same thing.</p>
<p>"Bishop Heahmund of Sherborne."</p>
<p>"A priest?” Ivar chuckled; for a brief moment he thought of Athelstan, who had also been a priest - but he had never worn an armor. This armor was now moving noticeably; Ivar sensed that he had said something provocative and he put on a slight grin.</p>
<p>The Christian rolled his shoulders briefly and let out a snort that came close to a contemptuous laugh - only then did he answer.</p>
<p>“I said I was a bishop. A higher rank in the church. But I was already aware that you heathens didn’t know that. One would like to think of heresy, and if it was up to me - your head would be long gone."</p>
<p>"Ah.", Ivar made and let out a slight laugh; his eyes lingered on the bishop, and he nodded curiously at him. It amused him how this man spoke to him. Ivar straightened his legs with his right hand, then leaned back again; however, he did not let go of his gaze. "I guess I'm not too pleased to have to sleep in a room with those disgusting crosses on the wall."</p>
<p>"Disgusting? Someone who is godless says that..."</p>
<p>"We have many gods because we have many ways to be glorious."</p>
<p>“He who is a pagan is never glorious!” The Christian's voice boomed through the room; and Ivar loved it. In a way, he loved the stubborn, savage defenses of the Christian very much. It provoked him to the core; and he would have loved to continue. But he remembered the promise he had made to his father and instead just nodded in response. Even if it itched in his fingers a lot. But he had to look weak under all circumstances and not get too carried away.</p>
<p>"Go please. I need my rest.”, Ivar said quietly after a while, and for a tiny moment it looked as if the Christian would want to refuse; the two looked at each other, and Ivar could read the inner defense against the request so clearly in the bright eyes - but the Christian pressed his lips together and turned on his heel. Ivar watched him go as he disappeared; with so much adrenaline and excitement in the limbs that it almost burned.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>"You got better," Alfred said in his soft voice, and Ivar put on a coarse grin. They sat in the beautiful adjoining hall, opposite at a large wooden table, and played chess. It was a nice pastime, and somehow Ivar was very fond of young Alfred, who seemed his age. They had the same abilities, and unlike the others, Alfred had never judged him or spoken derogatory to him. Ivar took a black figure between thumb and forefinger and set it; Alfred let out a deep breath.</p>
<p>"I've always been good."</p>
<p>A slight snort went through the hall; Ivar didn't have to look up to guess where it was coming from. Yesterday's great Christian stood in the corner of the room, as always on watch, and had to watch the boys play. And although Ivar would have a lot of fun, he left out a reply about the ridicule for the time being. A slight trace of red was visible on Alfred’s cheeks as he moved his white figure to the next move; Ivar grinned slightly.</p>
<p>"Who is he?" he whispered, and Alfred leaned closer over the table; the two boys did not look over at Heahmund, but Ivar sensed that he could hear them well. Even if he stood there stubbornly.</p>
<p>“He is our bishop and a warrior of God. Father says he has fought many battles. He also teaches me in the doctrines."</p>
<p>"In the what?", Ivar giggled, and just as Alfred was about to start an answer, the great Christian interrupted him; he walked slowly towards the two boys, and Ivar took his eyes off Alfred to look at the Christian. His steps were heavy; there was something in the man's gaze that made Ivar feel a strange tingling sensation in his limbs. Excitement, adrenaline. And something else Ivar couldn't place. But what he had felt back then with Margret before the shit with the sex had happened.</p>
<p>“In the scriptures of our Lord. And I believe, Prince Alfred, that you have played enough with the heathen now.”, Heahmund said roughly; Alfred’s cheeks turned even darker and he nodded softly; he gave Ivar an uncertain look and then mumbled softly, "See you tomorrow, Ivar." He pushed back his chair and went out through the door, while Ivar was left alone with the Christian. For a moment Ivar looked at the place where Alfred had just sat - then his blue eyes fixed on Heahmund, who was still standing in front of the table and looked down at the boy with a slight disdain.</p>
<p>"You took my playmate from me," Ivar said softly, albeit with a hint of provocation; Heahmund raised a dark eyebrow and snorted again.</p>
<p>“The prince shouldn't bother with someone like you. I have told the king about my concerns, but he commands it. And now you come back to your room.” Today the bishop's voice was a bit scratchy, and Ivar liked that very much. He didn't avert his gaze but slid his body a little forward on the chair.</p>
<p>“You know that you have to help me. You actually need two men for that.", Ivar answered; there was a slight smile at the corner of his mouth as the bishop rolled his eyes and reached out his arm so Ivar could hold on to him. The smell fogged him as it did this morning; it was a bitter, masculine scent, and if Ivar was not mistaken, there was a hint of incense in it. Sure, these goddamn churchgoers and their disgusting smells. But it smelled differently on the bishop's skin. Kind of good.</p>
<p>"You could crawl," Heahmund said bitterly as Ivar threw an arm around his shoulders; the leather of the armor was hard, yet still soft with use; Ivar’s fingers found a slight loop to hold on to before Heahmund lifted him with a slight groan.</p>
<p>“But the king said I shouldn't miss anything, and that includes normal walking. So come on, Bishop!”, Ivar chuckled, and he had to laugh when he discovered a crazy frown on the man's forehead; oh, how he <em>loved </em>to provoke. Heahmund picked him up with no problems and dragged Ivar along, who held onto the warrior.</p>
<p>“May the Lord forgive me for dragging a crippled pagan through the corridors. It would be best for you to be drowned."</p>
<p>"Then my gods must love me, because I survived the sea voyage."</p>
<p>Heahmund clicked his tongue; he gripped Ivar’s waist tighter and Ivar let out a deep breath; those hands on his body were somehow different. Unlike other men's hands. Ivar liked the feel of these on his clothes, and he liked the smell of the bishop on his nose. When they turned the corner and were in Ivar’s corridor, Ivar swallowed hard. He was feeling so warm inside.</p>
<p>"It will probably be like that," was Heahmund's rough answer, and Ivar gasped slightly when Heahmund set him down a little to open the door to his room.</p>
<p>When the two stepped through the door everything happened quickly; Ivar landed on his back on the bed, and his blue eyes immediately were searching for Heahmund; the Christian, however, had quickly straightened up and was about to go; but Ivar slid a little higher on the bed and cleared his throat.</p>
<p>"Bishop…"</p>
<p>Heahmund stopped - he didn't look pleased that Ivar was addressing him unexpectedly, but he fixed his bright eyes on the young heathen. They both looked at each other for a moment until Ivar nodded slightly.</p>
<p>“You have scratches on your neck. Where do they come from?"</p>
<p>Something stopped in the tall man, Ivar saw it clearly - but he had not overlooked these traces of human nails. He knew these scratches too well to ignore them, and when Heahmund had carried him, he had noticed them immediately. The Christian's gaze shifted - the light blue of the eyes looked shocked, a little overwhelmed, and he even avoided Ivar for a moment. Ivar's heart was pounding hard, although he didn't know why - but it was just there. The heart beat in a steady rhythm, taking away his free breath, and Ivar had to grip his fingers a bit in the bed to keep him from feeling dizzy.</p>
<p>"It's really none of your business," Heahmund replied after a while; the structures of his face had turned pale, pale and somehow dull.</p>
<p>Ivar bit his lip. He knew what kind of scratches those were. And it kind of hurt. Only the gods knew why he felt like this... It was a disgusting feeling that pulled up to the neck and made him feel sick again.</p>
<p>"A fight of a different kind?" Ivar muttered; he did not let go of the bishop's gaze, who snorted and ran a hand through his hair.</p>
<p>“You are just a pagan, an unbeliever. You do not know the customs of Christians. And now I'll leave you alone."</p>
<p>“The customs... ah. Tomorrow the king will have lunch with me and my father. He will certainly not be pleased that a servant of the Church... "</p>
<p>Ivar got no further, because a warm and extremely strong hand suddenly grabbed his chin and pulled him to eye level; Heahmund had strength and speed that less than two moments had passed when he had stormed towards Ivar. Ivar had to admit that something changed when the Christian came so close and pulled him to eye level - there was something exhilaratingly intoxicating about the closeness, like a drug. Like being drunk from soft honey mead.</p>
<p>"Not a word leaves your damn lips, or I'll cut them off the next time.", Heahmund whispered darkly to him; Ivar met the Christian's gaze firmly, and it amused him far too much to not enjoy the game. Excitement shot through his veins and he licked his lips lightly.</p>
<p>“Ah, the good Christian bishop. You underestimate me and my abilities. If I hadn't made a promise to my Father, I'd just enjoy seeing you fall. Did she fuck well, did she?”, Ivar snorted, and with a soft smile he felt how the bishop let go of his chin in disgust with a jerk and gave him one last, disparaging look.</p>
<p>"Cripples get no more than pity, so I'm not worried." Heahmund explained darkly and pushed himself away from the bed; one last look, which Ivar returned fiery, before the warrior walked out of the room at good speed, leaving Ivar with a soft grin. It was almost as if he could still feel the fingerprint on his skin, and he tilted his chin slightly to get rid of the trace of the touch.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>That night, Ivar dreamed of a sailing trip, of waves of pure gold and a black crutch that gave him strength. And from bright eyes in the moonlight that gave him a strange, violent tingling in the loin region.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>1) „Ikke spill noen spill med dem.“ - "Do not play any games with them."<br/>2) „Jeg vil ikke.“ - "I will not."</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>